Leatherbound
by CourtneyWorks
Summary: Dib has taken it upon himself to research one of the most infamous killers in his city's history. When he breaks into the hundred year old house believed to have been the home of Johnny C. he discovers journals, not written by the killer but by someone who'd also occupied this house. - Rated M for future chapters, violence, gore, and cursing. First fic, criticism welcome!
1. Timey-Wimey Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters belonging to one Mr. Jhonen Vasquez! **

In a bustling, futuristic metropolis, there seemed to be one house in the entirety that seemed to be untouched by time. It lacked color, it lacked any general life, and most importantly it lacked any attention from the members of the city, save for perhaps a young black haired boy with a scythe shaped hair-cut. He observed the crumbling building's form in awe from behind bottle-shaped glasses. This was Dib and he was doing research on the city's most notorious/mysterious killer that seemed to have faded into legend. Before him was the killer's home. No one seemed to wander here, and not out of fear, but from the fact it was invisible to those who didn't look for it. He sat there, looking back and forth down the street to notice it was not in decaying ruin like the home, but for the most part it seemed abandoned.

Dib crept over the grass, noticing that it too was dead and gone. He managed to step on something... It looked like a BONE. The large-headed teenager shuddered in disgust. Hopefully it was an animal bone and not much more. His mind knew though, it knew that it was probably human, and that these rumors and legends were true. He jumped onto the cracked pavement and meandered up to the house. The walls were cracked, but upright, which was odd considering it was probably over a hundred years old. Honestly, was a Hi Skool assignment really worth this treacherous passing onto unholy land?

"Calm down Dib… You always did want to be a paranormal investigator… ZIM was more of an issue than this, right?"

Yes, Dib talked to himself. He did that a lot these days without Zim around… He shook his head and walked closer to the door. A small, rusted plaque on the front read "777"… He took a calming breath. There was excitement as much as fear coursing through his gangly teenage body. He gave the door bell and experimental ring, but nothing sounded… That wasn't odd, he supposed. The door hadn't been used in probably fifty years.

50 YEARS EARLIER—Sunday, March 16th 5:30 A.M.

The city was dry and rusty. It was nothing like the wide open range of meadows that had a lovely sunlight beckoning for you to come and have a picnic in. What the city did offer was a new life, one that a Miss Carrie Camble so desperately desired. It had its perks, the 24/7 on nearly every corner, a booming nightlife, and some quirky places to shop. That nearly made up for the horror of the numerous crimes committed there on a daily basis.

Maybe it was a bad idea to come here without any money, shelter, or a job to keep herself a float, but Carrie came anyways. She knew it was probably stupid, but she was much happier with a cold breeze and an empty belly than staying one more minute in the last town she was in. Even though it wasn't a great start, it was a fresh one.

The first day Carrie had come into town, it was on a bus that'd taken her two hours away from her small home town. She'd stayed all of two nights in a hotel, ate up what food money she had, and was now stuck. She supposed that she should've tried to get a job the first night she came into town, but she'd been so busy just trying to cope with what she has done. Now, reality was hitting her repeatedly in the face with a horrible smelling shoe.

Carrie Camble was a shivering form. She was short, chubby, and choppy brown hair. One could easily mistake her as a boy, which she found to be a blessing considering none of the sketchy men she had passed by in this concrete jungle tried to attack her. All she had was a ratty backpack with a one extra clean change of clothes and a few miscellaneous items she'd put away. It was probably for the best that she didn't have any time to pack so too much stuff, she probably would've been mugged at this point.

Her eyes were cast down as she walked the path of a sidewalk. At this point, her newest plan was to find an abandoned house and occupy it for as long as she had to until she got on her feet. It was a disturbing feeling, being homeless. There was no place to call home, or even some inkling of protection or safety to rely on. She searched long and hard. Most of the abandoned apartments were already riddled with homeless creatures; the kind that weren't escaping a terrible situation, but putting themselves in it by using drugs like heroine or meth. There was no way she was going to share quarters with those vile, disease ridden things. Ah yes, a picky homeless person, that's what she was now. She had a plan to search the more pitiful side of the suburbs in order to find a haven of sorts.

Carrie took note that this place was filled with mostly white trash… Big families with too many kids to take care of, a bunch of pit-bull dogs in one of the backyards, it was reminding her far too much of the life she was trying to put behind her. She shook her head and pushed those thoughts back. She shouldn't worry too much about it, since she will be on her own now and would be able to choose what would go on around her.

It was the early morning hours, so it was chilly with just a few slivers of light pooling over the edge of the city-scape that overshadowed the suburbs she'd chosen to walk through. She was so tired and hungry; she was nearly losing hope with her new plans. Fear seemed to spring into her belly at this moment. What if she died? What if she died out here? She couldn't go back, no. That would be a punishment worse than death waiting for her. She stopped and rubbed her face, fingering her sleepless eyes in frustration and worry.

Maybe it was the light or the spreading shadow on the ground that got her to look up from her pity-party. Maybe it was fate, a guiding hand of an angel, or maybe it was a demon that was luring her into a world of horror. She didn't know and at that moment she didn't care. In front of her was one of the most abandoned homes she'd seen, if not the only one. No one could live here, no one but _her._ A giddy sense of excitement washed over her at that moment.

It was a decrepit house with grey, withering walls that seemed to crumble with every blow of the wind, but the walls surprisingly seemed to stand straight and firm. Every single window was boarded up and seemed to have cracked windows beneath. The grass was dead and had been for a long time. The pathway leading to the door seemed like a golden road to heaven. The irony was, that she followed the gleam of the sun to a rusty plate that had "777" etched into what used to be a metal sheet. There was even more irony about this that she didn't know about.

All she knew was that this was her salvation. She had to stop and think, contemplating whether or not someone actually lived here. She crept closer and spotted a door-bell. She brought her finger up to press it in and listened for a ring. There was nothing, not even a faint whisper or electric whine. She licked her lips and looked around in an odd and paranoid way. She reached forward and knocked. She waited a moment, anxiety building up with every second. Oh god, what if it wasn't abandoned? She began banging on the door. "Is anyone here? Hello!" She called out, no answer, not a single sign of life.

PRESENT TIME— Monday, September 4th 4:45 P.M.

Dib made a humming sound as no one answered the door. He poked around a little more, knocked and knocked. No answer. This was a good sign that he wasn't going to be brutally murdered. He shimmied over to one of the windows, looking through the planked up window at the dark room that was before him. There was also a strange thing that stuck out to him. Despite being boarded up from the outside, the glass behind the wood was free of any cracks. He clenched the papers in his hand and adjusted his prized camera around his neck. He was going in. The large headed investigator moved to the door, he jiggled the handle and breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed it was unlocked.

The sunlight filtered in from behind him, casting a dusty and sepia like glow over the first room. It was obviously a living room. A living room that he found to be too well decorated for a psychopath like the one described to him. Dib scratched his cheek a bit and observed the room, not stepping in yet. The floors were supposed to be brown, but there were a few discolored patches where it seemed something was cleaned up with bleach of all things. His eyes widened just a bit and he brought his camera up, taking a picture of the overall room, then creeping closer to take a picture of the floor.

One more time, he looked over the room. The walls looked like they were wallpapered shoddily, some of the tan paper falling to reveal a rotting grey color beneath. He eyed the carpet again too. The workmanship looked like poor quality just as well. He rubbed his tongue over his teeth and nodded. He looked to the T.V. Boy, it was ancient alright. It still had a box back to it, and had antennae on the top. That was definitely out of place. There were a few obscure paintings on the wall. Really, they were probably the work of an amateur. Why would a murderer have a living room like this? Dib pulled up his note book and wrote down some questions and notes. He turned around and decided to shut the door behind him.

Upon doing this, he found another painting on the floor. It had been framed and the glass was broken and all over the ground near the door. How had he not noticed it before? He narrowed his eyes and crouched down before it. He hadn't done this when he'd opened the door; he would've heard it crack and fall. The painting was almost grotesque. There was no obvious subject, but really the piece of work looked like caked blood and smelled musky the closer he got. He took a picture of this too, a feeling of unease creeping into his stomach as well as a feeling of intrigue and excitement.

"Alright Dib, let's keep going…" He mumbled quietly to himself and sighed. He wished he had someone here to share this awesome experience with.

50 YEARS EARLIER—Sunday, March 16th 6:15 A.M.

Carrie had opened the door, the sunlight further gleaming into the room. It was beautifully abandoned. She didn't even note the stains on the floor and the wall. She didn't even care about it. The grey, rotting walls were almost like a warm embrace despite the house's coldness. She took a step in and one again, called out to see if anyone was around.

"Hello? Anyone home?" It would've been awkward if there was someone. But, she still doubted anyone live here. There had been a couch, but it was firmly coated in a nasty dust. She bet no one had been here in years. There was a T.V., it would require antennas and there seemed to be a gross stain on the top of it. If it still worked, it would be a blessing. Hell, if the electricity worked it would be icing on the cake, same with the water. She really, really needed to wash up. She stepped in farther and observed the walls closer now.

They were a gross grey, a very unpleasant grey. If she stayed here for very long, she would have to fix it up. Put down some better wall paper. Carrie would need to find a job first, of course. She looked to the floor next. There were so many stains and that was saying something since the floors were wooden. She would have to mop and clean them up; maybe even put some carpeting down. The aspect wasn't something she detested, no, she loved it.

As a matter of fact, she could do anything she damn well pleased now. This place would be hers and hers alone. She was going to decorate it how she pleased. With a firm nod of her head, she decided that she would even be the one to create any of the decorations that would go on the walls. She walked over to the couch and stared at it longingly. She couldn't go to sleep just yet. She had to go and check on the rest of the house. With that, she put her bag down on the couch and went to close the door.

Next, she would just have to go on into the kitchen. Oh, it would be great if there were any cans in there… If they were expired, then at least it would give her a clue as to how long the place was abandoned for. She wandered over to an archway at the back of the living room, closer to a closed door that might've lead to a bedroom or a hall way. She bet it was just a bedroom because of how small the place was.

PRESENT TIME – Monday, September 4th 5:00 P.M.

Dib stalked through the living room and eyed two doors he could cross into. It was almost like a forked path. A choice. He looked at the closed door on his right and licked his lips. There was something behind that door that seemed to ward him off; like he would be encroaching on the one shrine in this devil's play house. He then looked to the archway that invited him in without blocking his path. Through that door he found a window staring back at him with the glimmering rays of sunset touching a dusty counter.

He knew he would have to take a second trip back to this place. Dib would give the kitchen a once over before leaving, of course. He shuffled in, his shoes sticking to the tile in the kitchen. He frowned and looked down. A big brown puddle of some dried, sticky substance coated the floor. It wasn't dried blood, it was too syrupy. He took a picture of it anyways. It was odd, like a spill that was never cleaned because no one had the time. It wasn't like it was a gooey kind of sticky. No, the kind of sticky you get after leaving glue on the pavement for a long time and it never seems to dry or some kind of soda that you left spilt on your desk.

He brought his eyes back up to glance over the kitchen. There was a small table with two chairs nearby. One of the chairs was broken on the floor, some of the pegs were scattered around the table. He took a picture of that, and then he looked at the fridge. It seemed normal enough; he walked over and opened it, grimacing as a puff of musky dust greeted him. Inside the fridge were quite a few rotting and degrading items. It had been well stocked at one time. He noted the gallon jug of milk that was now a solid mass. It had barely been touched. He closed the door and walked over to the sink.

Now _this _was psycho-murderer worthy. There was a great big bunch of rusting knives in the sink and some on the counter. Butcher knives, chef knives, a dagger or two, and utility knives occupied the area. An old, dry sponge was near the bottom somewhere. Dib supposed they were being washed when something happened. There was one in particular that drew his eye. A custom made machete with little smiley decorations on the handle. He took a picture of the mess, his stomach twisting. He was so excited, yet the fear was growing with every passing second. This was beyond ominous. He pulled the machete up and looked it over.

"So. Cool," His voice was a stressed squeak that nearly seemed to shatter his ears as he spoke.

It called to him. Oh yes, it did. He wanted this thing; it would be one of his many souvenirs of being a paranormal investigator. Did this really count as paranormal? It could be able to prove a long lost legend of one of the worst, unrecognized killers in history. He placed it in his trench coat's pocket. Honestly, it was a very good thing that the blade was so dull and chipped or it would've been dangerous or would have damage his cloak.

With a little more exploration he found that most of the counters had deep scars from cutting marks, probably from food preparation more than anything he assumed. He checked a microwave and found himself a surprise. It seemed like a bowl filled with _Skettios_. They were brown, crusty, and dried up, but there was no doubt that the circular canned pasta was what it was. Something must have happened that drew the occupants away from dinner of all things. He pulled back and took pictures. He would have to add that into his report.

Dib pulled back and adjusted his glasses before taking a picture of the microwave. He then looked out one of the boarded up windows and blinked. It was pretty dark, definitely time to head back home. He held onto his stuff and nearly ran out of the house. He was eager to write about what he found. He even stopped to take a picture of the bone he ran across earlier, but he couldn't find it with the darkness closing in. So, with that, Dib rushed all the way home to begin work on his paper.

50 YEARS EARLIER—Sunday, March 16th 6:25 A.M.

Carrie stepped into the kitchen and noticed that it was a checkerboard tile sort of floor. That was a bit of a pick up after seeing such boring decorum in the first room. This would need some clean up too. There seemed to be a lot of brown gunk near the sink, on the sink, on a few of the counters, on even some of the walls. She noticed the same types of stains in the living room. She didn't think much on them, they could've been mold. No need to dwell on it.

She looked in the empty sink and crunched up her nose in disgust. Yeah, it would need a proper scrub down with some bleach like the rest of the house. She reached forward and gave the knobs of the faucet an experimental turn. Nothing came out for a second… Then, rusty water poured out of the sink like some sort of golden water fall to Carrie.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" The chubby lass chanted, jumping up and down in joy at the prospect of having running water. She bit her lip and shook her rump in a victory dance. She would be able to clean herself when the water began to clean up. She shut it off and turned on her heel. That reminded her of the electricity and she stumbled over to the light switch in the kitchen.

What once was a room illuminated by a dull sunrise from between boarded windows was lit, barely, by a dull bulb that shortly blew after it was turned on. She was so excited that she didn't even care that it all went dark again. Electricity and water! The city must have completely over-looked this place! Honestly, she couldn't have been more amazed and happy.

Her happiness died down when her curiosity and hunger pulled at her. She managed to find a microwave on the counter near the fridge and opened it, grimacing; looked like someone put a cockroach in here before they left. That was raunchy. Carrie closed it and decided to clean it later. She went to the fridge and found it completely empty, but it let out a cool blast of air. The fridge worked too. This place was a homeless person's mansion. It really, really was.

Then, she checked the cabinet. There was one lone can of Skettios sitting there. She picked it up and wiped the dust off. The can was readable. This can of food expired four years ago. That's pretty amazing, seeing as how those things lasted forever. That helped her determine that the house was abandoned for a fact. She didn't even feel the compulsory need to dive further into the house.

No, now she felt the creeping ache of sleep begging her to take comfort in the dusty couch. She no longer felt like she was in danger or that she might die. She felt safe and happy. Something she hadn't felt in years.

Carrie crept into the living room and pulled her backpack off of the sofa and sat down, sticking the sack onto her lap. Carefully she opened it and removed a brown, leather journal from her bag. She would lie back against the armrest and pull a pen from the journal. The very first page was blank, but not for long. She scribbled down her first story. What made her come here, what the struggle was like, what the house was like, and how much relief she could feel were all amongst some of the things she wrote about.

Then, she closed the journal, put her things to the side and fell asleep. Curling into the dusty covered fabric of the worn sofa, she managed to find even more salvation amongst her dreams of the future.

57 YEARS EARLIER—Saturday, December 31st 11:59 A.M.

On this day, years and years ago, Johnny C. had abandoned his home. He had abandoned his young friend Squee, or Todd if you will, and all of the mental characters that had plagued him. It was time for a new start. It was time to leave. He was done with being a tool, he thought, a tool of Senior Diablo and god to rid the world of the filth and trash. Oh yes, he still hated the festering cretins of the world. But, he wanted to get rid of them on his own terms.

He also wanted to live life for himself, something he can't ever recall doing. As a matter of fact, the dark crevices of his mind never allowed him to remember much from his own adolescent and childhood days. Maybe he could find out who he was. Something would be done, of course. It wouldn't be just another town to kill in, but another chance to maybe… Fix him. He'd been turned off, but no one had fixed him, so he needed to do it for himself, he decided.

Before he left, Johnny made sure to do a little something for himself. He removed the corpse from the living room, he pulled the decaying bunny ears off of the T.V. and he pulled all of the body parts from the sink and counters. Then he opened the door to the hallway, which lead to three other doors. He walked down to the very last door and opened it, throwing everything down the stairs into the leering basement filled with dungeons and tunnels.

He might be a changed man when or if he came back at all. He wouldn't want to have to deal with that mess if he had to come back. The sanest thought he had then and there, was that he wouldn't return to this place for ten years if he could help it. Now, it was time to say good bye to Squee. How he would miss those terrified little noises the boy would make. He wondered if they would ever meet again.

With those thoughts, the infamous mass murderer left his home. He shut the door and didn't lock it up. It would be vulnerable now.


	2. The Awakening

Chapter 2: The Awakening

Disclaimer: **I will never own anything that belongs to Jhonen Vasquez.**

**WARNING: Talk of child neglect, drugs, physical abuse, and eating disorders.**

_~Author's Note~_

So, yup! This is my first **real**, and by real I mean that it's the first fanfiction that has some amount of thought put into it. I've tried fanfictions before on Quizilla about eight years ago, but yeah, I haven't touched them since. I think this is going to be as mature as I can make it. Carrie is not going to be a Mary-sue. Johnny is not going to be too OOC, I might make him more… Thoughtfully insane rather than RANDOM insane. I don't know how else to put it. I want it to be dark on his side, but light on her side.

I'm going to try my best to keep all other characters I might add in character. I'll try and do some research. If at any time you're offended by something I said in here, do try and tell me in a polite manner so that I'm not going to just give you a big bird and tell you to screw off.

Please, rate and review if you feel like you need to give me hints or tips. I need some feedback so that I can make myself better! I want to finish at least one fanfiction before I die and I'd like for people to like it.

**ALSO**, Squee will be making an appearance in this story, and whatever has happened in his comic hasn't happened here. As much as I want to read them, I just can't bring myself to. Maybe I'll add something in there, if I ever get around to reading _Squee!_

Also, Johnny probably won't make an appearance till a few chapters from now. I have to set Carrie up and give the scene where Dib finds the Journals. After that, I'll give a few short summaries on the three years that will follow up to Johnny's return to his house.

_~End Author's Note~_

**Obviously Some Time in the Past**

For once in her life, Carrie Camble woke up on her own, in a relatively peaceful manner. It might've been a little dark, maybe even a little cold. But, she felt safe. The heavy set girl felt like she was in good graces with some mighty being who had blessed her with an obvious sanctuary.

Sleep, like it always had been, was peaceful. Carrie never remembered her dreams, she never kept herself up. She wasn't a light sleeper by any means. Sleep was sort of her drug when she was in her original hell hole of a home.

You (the reader) might be wondering, why the hell she was so adamant about running away, and so desperate to escape that she would put herself in the position of being homeless? Well, just sit back because it's a long story.

Carrie came from a white trash family who lived in a trailer park, in a rather small town that was well known for productions of Crystal Meth. One of the top providers of this Meth happened to be her father.

She remembers that her family wasn't always a bunch of drugged up bastards who provided such a disgusting and filthy addiction for the rest of the neighborhood. No, it was just your normal run of the mill bunch of trashy people who had to rely on the man of the family for its income.

It's not a bad thing that some women rely on men; it's only bad when the men weren't reliable. At six years old, her father lost a job at the local factory that made bolts and cables and all sorts of various mechanical pieces.

That put her family in an incredibly dire situation.

Carrie had three brothers; she was the oldest of the four siblings that made up the house. The ages of the toddlers happened to be two years old. They were triplets, and they were complete hellions. Her mother was not what one could call the epitome of motherly instincts.

It was far, far from the truth.

Her mother's days consisted of watching idiotic cable shows and soap operas, dishing out what junk food they could afford onto the obese children she already had. At the time, Carrie didn't complain, she loved junk food!

She was also just starting kindergarten. It was really hard for her to keep up with all of the other children; her parents weren't very active in her life after all. Still, she would try because she didn't enjoy being picked on for being stupid. She also lacked some of the necessary supplies. Her teachers hadn't seemed to mind sharing theirs with her.

One day through that year, her father came home and announced his being laid off. Of course, he was also drunker than Cooter Brown. He was also pissed beyond belief and she was terrified. Being the older sister, she saw to her younger brothers and moved them into their room and hid in there with them.

Mr. Camble had been furiousnand drunk. He was screaming and yelling and throwing things around their small trailer, earning Mrs. Camble's own wretched wrath. Things had escalated from his fury with losing his job, to fury with his wife.

That was the night when she over-heard them yelling at each other about every mistake they'd made in their lives and blaming one another. That was the night she found out that she was a complete mistake and that she was the burden that kept them from their dreams. The boys of course, were sobbing and crying because they were terrified of yelling.

Carrie couldn't do anything about it, she was scared too, she didn't know what to do, and she was only six. They put her in this position.

Everything took a turn for the worse as the night dribbled on. It turned physical. The toddlers had cried themselves to sleep in a nest of blankets on the floor, and Carrie was still up, listening to her father beat her mother black and blue.

The cops were never called. No one came to see what was wrong. The reason being, it was normal. It was normal on this side of the train tracks. It was something that no one in the trailer park sought to stop.

Sometime in the night, she fell asleep with her little brothers. She didn't have nightmares; she was too tired to really remember any dreams she might've had. She slept like a rock. The following day was the first day she'd missed school in her academic career so far.

That day, she had to play little mommy and learn about how to take care of the toddlers. Carrie's father had done a number on Mrs. Camble. Carrie's Mom's eyes were swollen and bruised, her nose was broken, there were bruises on her wrists in the shape of hand marks, there was a horrible cut on her cheek. The woman barely moved until the kids woke up.

Carrie was instructed on how to make grilled cheese sandwiches that day. She was so scared. She had to use a stool to cook. Some of them ended up burned and some ended up too cold and didn't melt the cheese. None of the triplets minded, they just stuffed all they could into their insatiable mouths and ran around the house making a mess.

The oldest sibling was also in charge of cleaning everything too. She ended up with lots of cuts from glass she had to pick up. Her mother didn't seem to care, she only screamed for the girl to grow up and stop crying.

It'd been like that for an entire two weeks. Carrie hadn't seen her dad in those weeks, but she knew he came back at night. She was never around to see them fight. It didn't get physical anymore, but that didn't mean she was off the hook with her new found job. Mrs. Camble was more than happy to begin bossing her around.

It's probably sad to say, but the house never looked so better and only a six year old child was cleaning it. On the third week, her father and mother had calmed down, but financial troubles settled in.

The first thing to go was the cable, her mother had been thoroughly pissed the hell off. Then the water went a week after that. Carrie and the kids were disgusting for those weeks and had developed rashes and boils from being unsanitary.

And with that month of hell coming to an end, they also lost all electricity. Carrie's mother had been content to leave her children at the house while she went to mooch off of her 'friends' around the way. She was also sleeping with them plenty so that she could afford any of the junk food she'd wanted.

On top of being stupid and poor, Carrie also added 'smelly' to her list of problems when it came time for school. She always worried about her brothers while she was away from home. Apparently, their mother had the decency to take them with her, finally. They'd also gotten a bath, but she didn't.

Carrie's father had ended up finding something to work on after a month and a half after having no job. Some of the men in the trailer park had invested in building up a shed and individually buying the products needed to make methamphetamine.

Shit hit the fan after that. Meth isn't just a drug that gets you hyped up and rushed up. No, it caused you to literally lose your mind. Her father became a user and a producer. He became exceedingly violent and crazy.

Carrie's mom followed to. Their fights got worse and worse. Some days they were humping each other non-stop, others they were battering each other.

At least her parents paid the bills now. That's all that passed through Carrie's mind every time she heard them yelling. She always had to comfort her younger siblings and take care of them. She grew up much faster than she probably needed to.

Growing up had been hard. When it came time for the school to receive her younger brothers, her parents barely recognized them. The school knew what was going on, no one helped.

Still, Carrie tried to keep optimistic; she never really got the hang of being responsible. She wasn't smart or pretty, so school wasn't some kind of place she could go to for fun. She knew she would never be like her parents, and she tried to teach her brothers the same. They never really listened to her.

Her parents were riding the government system too. Her mother was labeled as 'disabled' and they always got any government benefits they could leech off of. This was the same for everyone in the area.

When she became a teenager, Carrie became much more aware of her situation. She even tried to get help from the school once, but they never really took it too far. They promised her they would help, and tell someone or alert the authorities. Somehow, they forgot about Carrie's situation.

Carrie was still optimistic though, she didn't know why, but she was. Maybe it was because she always slept or ate as a past time hobby. That always made her feel better and she would forget about her situation when she felt too bitter. When her brothers turned nine, they were able to take care of themselves for the most part that helped her.

At fifteen years old, her parents didn't even pay their kids any attention at all, unless they were acutely paranoid at some point. Sometimes they would lock all of them away for the weekends. Only letting them out when they came off of the drug. They were hostile too, but they never really attacked any of the siblings.

Carrie's parents looked like monsters, of course. Meth did horrible, horrible things to the body as well as the mind. She wasn't surprised that the boys grew up like they did. They were terrible, trashy kids with terrible and awful mouths.

Carrie was weird too. She never really talked to anyone, but she would smile at them and wave. Sometimes, when she would talk she would say the wrong thing. She was annoying, she wasn't crazy. She was socially awkward and didn't really have a filter.

She got bitter and depressed sometimes, but she would eat it away. She didn't mind that she didn't have any friends, she would just sleep. Carrie did have high school crushes, but that didn't mean they would ever like her.

It was no secret that her family was a bunch of meth-heads. She didn't deny it or accept it, she shrugged it off. It did make her angry. Somehow she just sort of pushed it away. In school, she was put in remedial classes, because she wasn't very bright or good at anything that was considered necessary for life. Some of the things she was good at, though, were her cooking and parenting classes. Family Consumer Science classes were what really helped her get through school.

When Carrie was sixteen, she decided she wanted to open up a bed and breakfast or something along those lines. It became her dream. It would've been nice, if things hadn't taken another turn for the worse.

She was sixteen and that meant that her brothers were twelve.

At twelve years old, Carrie's father had let his sons try meth.

It was a terrible day, and it did terrible things to the bodies of her younger brothers. Carrie thought one of them was going to die. They were screaming and tweaking at odd intervals. Of course, mom and dad were too busy screwing in their room to know or care.

Carrie took special care of her three twelve year old brothers as they rode out the meth they'd put into their system.

The boys were never the same after that. They were much, much worse.

That was the day that Carrie snapped. She fell into anger and depression. She was the only on in that house that wasn't on meth. That didn't mean she didn't have a crutch. No, now all she did at home was sleep or eat, sleep or eat. She gained even more weight at that point, she was disgusting and she didn't care.

She never really smiled at anyone in school after that day. At seventeen, she became bulimic when a terrible incident with her chair breaking had everyone laughing at her. She'd start binging and throwing up in order to get her weight under control. Her teeth were damaged pretty bad from the corrosive stomach acid. She only kept that up for half a year and while she wasn't grotesquely fat, she still kept quite a bit of weight on.

Then she took to sleeping more and more. That seemed to calm her down.

She barely graduated the year she turned eighteen. Carrie figured her teachers just didn't want to deal with her anymore so they changed her grades up just enough so that she didn't fail the classes she had.

Her brothers were fourteen and they still did meth occasionally. Sometimes they would steal from the neighbors. She didn't know how they didn't get caught. They harassed her now, sometimes. When she wasn't asleep, and they weren't fist fighting amongst them, they would throw the most terrible words at her.

Most of the days she slept and slept and slept just to get away from it all, and some days she would spend time cleaning up the house as best as she could after any fights that might've broken some other item in the house, or she would clean up what was left of drugs.

She thought she might've been happy after she left school, but she wasn't.

Carrie also wanted to find a job, but she was scared to. She didn't know what was keeping her back from it. Maybe she was scared of having to support her family. She was growing to hate them these days. She tried to tell herself that it was wrong to hate them, but she couldn't.

A few days after her nineteenth birthday, her dad approached her. He didn't do it often, the only times they ever interacted anymore was when he ordered her around or made some stupid comment or when she had to clean up after his messes.

When he approached her and told her that he had a job for her, she was both scared and excited. Of course, she asked him what it was and he told her that his 'co-workers' needed some fresh entertainment. Carrie was not naïve or stupid, she knew what he meant. He only flashed her smile of messed up teeth and told her to get ready for that night. She didn't even have time to respond.

There was only horror and anger at that point. Luckily, they actually didn't come over that night. Instead they'd all gone somewhere else under some different circumstance. That was probably the one day she couldn't sleep and the one day she kept her mouth free of food.

The anger only tripled at night, when they didn't come and when everyone at the house just fell asleep. She'd been tormenting herself and mentally preparing herself all day. Her father and mother weren't there, it was only the boys. She was angry at herself for not standing up to her father, she was angry at life and how unfair it was, and she was angry that her own family put her in this situation. So, she did what any reasonable girl would do.

She ran.

Carrie gathered up what she could as quick as she could. She stole whatever money she could get out of that house and got a trip to the nearest city. And that's how she ended up at this decrepit house.

As a matter of fact, Carrie was just sitting there in the dark, thinking about her life and the events that led up to where she was now. Anger still seemed to bubble into her stomach over the past few days and what they meant for her.

She breathed in the murky smell of the house, her eyes staring up at the ceiling before her that held what little of the moon's glow it could, thanks to the boarded up windows. Carrie closed her eyes again and listened to the creaks and groans of the house and the wind that pushed against the aging grey walls.

There was nothing in her that told her to be scared. She didn't have to worry about her family anymore. She didn't have to worry about any violent fights between her brothers or between her parents. She didn't have to rely on drug money anymore and she didn't have anyone relying on her to do house work or to cook food.

The last one, she was sure, would become an empty hole in her at some point, but she couldn't find it in herself to care right then. Instead she just savored the quietness of the house, the peace and security that it gave her.

The door could lock, she found out, and that was nice. She felt secure because of it too. She would eventually need to get another handle though, and change that out so she could lock the door when she left as well.

Carrie sat up a bit and just sat still in the dark room, her mind peacefully blanking out here and there. She would think of something and smile, or think of something else and frown. She was feeling something, something that she couldn't name. It was surreal, but she couldn't call it that because she didn't know what it meant. It was fantastic and mind-blowing, the comfort that a normally eerie house would offer her a place to call home.

A few hours passed of her mind's aimless wandering. When she came to her senses, she would lean over her knees and play with her toes. Why? She didn't know, she just did and she started talking to herself.

"Okay, I need to figure out what I'm going to do tomorrow," She started hesitantly, her own voice breaking the silence was odd and out of place, but she kept going because it made something inside of her light up with happiness and certainty.

"I need to find a job." It was a solid statement, and she felt a burst of joy at the fact she no longer felt afraid of what that would mean. All of that money would go to her and she would be able to choose how she got it.

She nodded her head once and bit back a smile. There'd been a few places she saw on her way trying to find her new home. She would start with the closest ones, since she would have to walk to her destination. There was a pizza place, a crummy looking hotel, and a 24/7 that she could possibly work at. She might even think about getting two jobs to double her income. There weren't many options that she would be particularly good at, so those were likely places to find some place to work.

She reached over to the place she'd settled her bag down and pulled the tattered material up and onto her lap. She reached in and carefully plucked a cloth and Velcro wallet from the dark confines. It was empty of everything except her social security card, a school I.D., and a state I.D. She'd gotten the first one from her mother's purse when she'd stumbled across it. It was amazing that the woman managed to hold on to any of these things with how she was. But, then again she'd had the same purse for at least a decade before Carrie had stolen the important piece of paper.

Carrie let her finger brush over the top edge of the card. It would be her key into a job, because you couldn't get very far in the world without proof of who you were. That's what she was taught in Middle School anyways.

Carefully, she set all of her worldly possessions to the side and got up to walk over to one of the boarded up windows. It was still late at night, considering the moon was pretty high in the sky. She let her forehead rest against a board that was just above her eyes. Carrie would just stare into the light polluted sky, letting the moon wash over her as best as it could.

Without meaning to, she was scaring the living hell out of her neighbor.

Todd Casil stood frozen in spot as he looked out of his window. It had been a bad, bad idea. A terrible idea.

He could see the whites of eyes in the house right next to him, right through the boarded up windows. A croaky 'squee' sort of sound fell out of his puberty stricken throat. He turned and scrambled against the wall, his heart pounding with intense fear unlike anything he's felt in a long time.

Despite the fact that he'd grown up into a fourteen year old, Todd was a baby. He was paranoid and terrified of every little thing. The problem had only grown with him. The only thing he'd grown out of was Shmee.

The day Shmee left was the same day the crazy next door neighbor had come to say he was leaving too. He still had the stuffed bear sitting on his dresser, but it never talked to him.

Todd's father was blind now, of course. Thanks to that crazy psycho who has forever scarred him. Todd was a little less blind. His parents were awful, and he'd come to fear them as much as he feared everything else.

He was so scared of his father. Even if the man couldn't see him, if he managed to get a hold of Todd, the old man would shake and scratch and yell at him about how Todd was the bane of his existence. That happened a lot, but he was also scared of the fact that his father could get hurt.

He was scared that one day his mom would die and he'd be stuck with his father forever. The woman never seemed to come off of a high or seemed to sober up, no matter where she was. She slept a lot, but sometimes he would come and sleep next to her, just to keep an eye on her and pretend that she was letting him do this because of his nightmare.

He got scolded for it a lot of the time, especially when his dad would come in and find Todd curled up on his side of the bed.

He held his acne'ed face in his hands and shook his head hard. It couldn't be, it couldn't be the mass murderer that haunted every dream he had. The man was supposed to be gone, he was supposed to have ceased existing when he left, like every other bad dream.

Todd didn't sleep at all that night, and he didn't look out the window till the sun was up.

But, Carrie had returned to her peaceful slumber on the couch without knowing she caused the poor boy to stay up on a school night.


	3. ATTENTION!

**ATTENTION!**

So, I will not be continuing this story because it has proven to be far too 'extreme' of a start for any character. I believe I have made a Mary-Sue. I don't think many people even enjoyed this when they did decide to give it a read! Therefore, I will be discontinuing it and starting an entirely new JtHM series that focuses solely on Johnny C. and an OC. I will be going to great lengths to make sure the next story is much better than this one, and has a much better plot.

**HOWEVER!**

If at any time someone comes across this and somehow cannot live without possibly reading more of this story, let me know. If I find out that just one person might like to keep reading, I will definitely take them into consideration and continue on with the story.


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